We Never Change, Do We?
by SilentlyyScreamingg
Summary: "Hotch…please…make it stop…just make him stop," Reid whimpered. Tears spilled out of his eyes freely now staining his face with sadness and pain and shame and so many things that Hotch vowed he would protect Spencer from. Hotch/Reid Warnings: Rape, Violence


So, this is a Hotch/Reid type story. I guess you could say it's one-sided? I don't know. It's based off a dream that I have quite often due to some personal experiences, so I kind of tried to re-work it to fit the characters and the pairing. The title's taken from We Never Change by Coldplay. It's a good song. Sometimes it helps me sleep after I've had this dream, or at least, it's relaxing.

**We Never Change, Do We?**

"I thought I knew what love was….I had this vision of it. Flowers and walks holding hands, and making love, and smiling, and being happy. But now I know what it really is. Love is a poison—and the only antidote is him. Without him I will die."  
― Peter Meredith

_He had just fallen asleep when he heard the door creak as it opened. The only light came from the moonlight that filtered through the sheer curtains covering the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony. That's when he realized that he wasn't in his room like he had been when he fell asleep; he was in some sort of hotel, and he knew that this was a dream. God, did he know this was a dream; he had the exact same one almost every other night. But he also knew that as soon as anything started to happen he would forget that it was just a dream. It was all too real; too gruesome._

_And he was right as all his attention was drawn to the sound of the door as it clicked shut, and he completely forgot that none of it was real. He couldn't see who had entered because there was a short hallway that led into the room from the door. He held his breath and listened as the sound of footsteps came closer and closer. Finally, he was able to discern a dark figure dressed in a black sweatshirt, hood casting a shadow over his face. _

_He felt like his heart was going to burst right out of his chest, but he couldn't bring himself to move an inch. _What am I doing? _He thought. _I'm a federal agent. I should do something to protect my-

_Before he could finish his thought he felt a white hot pain against his jaw as a fist made impact sending his mind reeling. He immediately felt another fist connect with his nose. He quickly lost track of how many punches rained down on him. He coughed and sputtered as the metallic taste of blood choked him. _

_As he finally got his senses about him once more a voice spoke, "Don't worry, _Agent._ We're just getting started." He knew that voice. Even in his hazy state of mind, he could recognize that voice anywhere. It was the voice that haunted him in the dark, tortured him every single time he closed his eyes. Foyet. _

_He barely had time to register the bat swinging before he felt the impact against his chest. He heard the cracking of bones and knew that his ribs must be broken. Not that it mattered to Foyet. He just kept swinging; it didn't seem to matter to him where just as long as it was hard. The sound of the bat making impact and the crunching of bones echoed around the room. _

_At last, the blows ceased, and he thought it was over, but Foyet simply drawled, "What, you're not going to scream for me? Fine then. Why don't we try something a little different? Don't you worry; I'll get you to scream, _Agent."

_Suddenly everything was moving very fast. Foyet had swung one leg over him on the bed, so he was now being straddled. Foyet's rough hands ripped at his shirt until it lay uselessly on the ground next to them. Next, came the pants. Foyet slowly undoing the drawstring while laughing mercilessly had to be the most horrible sound he had ever heard. He tried to block everything out. He wasn't going to scream, wasn't going to give Foyet the satisfaction. But suddenly he felt like he was been torn in two, and he couldn't stop the scream that fell from his lips. Foyet didn't let up, slamming into him, taking a little piece of him each time. _

"_H-Hotch…" it was just a whisper; he almost thought he had imagined it, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Reid standing against the wall staring at him with fearful eyes. He looked desperate to do something, but he seemed to be at a loss for what to do. Hotch's mind raced with all the ways this scenario could play out, and the only thing he could think to do was to get Reid out before he got hurt. It didn't matter what happened after as long as Reid got out._

_Foyet was still slamming into Hotch at a brutal pace, breathing heavily against his neck. He hadn't heard Reid's whispered plea for instruction which Hotch took as a small miracle. He tried to signal to Reid with his eyes to leave, but he wouldn't budge. Hotch wanted to scream at him to move, to get out, and to go somewhere that he'd be safe. Reid didn't move, however, and sure enough, Foyet noticed Hotch's gaze fixed behind him and turned around to see Reid standing there. _

"_Well, what have we got here? Little Agent Reid here to save the day? Pathetic." Foyet sneered, but then he got a little glint in his eye which made Hotch's stomach churn. Before he knew what was happening, Foyet was tossing him on the floor and dragging Reid over to the bed. _

"_Hotch!" Reid screamed as Foyet wasted no time throwing a few punches and drawing some blood._

_Hotch lay crumpled on the floor in a defenseless heap. He tried to stand up only to find he couldn't move a muscle. He couldn't figure out why. At first, he thought it was because of all the bones Foyet had broken, but then for a fleeting moment he thought it might be because being unable to move is the kind of thing that happens in nightmares, but that idea slipped from his mind as quickly as it had come._

_An abrupt yelp brought his attention back to Reid. Hotch watched horrified as Foyet began removing Reid's clothes. Foyet was taking his time; he seemed to revel in Reid's tears and choked pleas for him to stop. Then, Reid turned to Hotch with those same pleading eyes and began begging him. Hotch thought someone might as well have just carved his heart right out of his chest because that couldn't possibly hurt any more than this. Here was the man he loved being hurt right in front of him, and he couldn't do anything. He tried even harder to stand, but he was paralyzed. _

"_Hotch…please…make it stop…just make him stop," Reid whimpered. Tears spilled out of his eyes freely now staining his face with sadness and pain and shame and so many things that Hotch vowed he would protect Spencer from._

"_Stop!" the word ripped itself from Hotch's throat before he himself realized he was going to speak. "Take me! I'll do anything you want…I won't fight…just…just leave Spencer." His voice cracked at the end, but he didn't care. He didn't feel like SSA Aaron Hotchner anymore. He felt like he was 8 years old again, hiding from his dad who he knew would hit him for getting a B in math. He felt like he was in law school again, trying to be what his father wanted though it wasn't what he wanted because he was still afraid of the man even if he would never admit it. He felt like he was in his apartment again being stabbed over and over by the reaper in the one place he should feel safe. He felt like he was in the hospital again telling his son that he couldn't see him for God knows how long. He felt small and weak and useless. _

"_Aaron…" Spencer's voice whispered once more._

And suddenly, Hotch's eyes shot open as he sat up in bed, and he felt his heart beating wildly in his chest. He took a shaky deep breath as he realized he had been dreaming. Every muscle in his body ached from being held so tense. He felt the dull throb of an oncoming headache in the back of his skull.

Hotch eyed his cell on the nightstand. Every fiber of his being wanted to call Spencer _no Reid_, to make sure he was okay. But what excuse did he have to call him in the middle of the night? What would he even say? It's not like he would ever admit to having nightmares like that. He couldn't show his weaknesses to his subordinates. But he didn't want Reid to just be a subordinate, a co-worker. He wanted him to be _Spencer. _ He wanted it to be the two of them; Aaron and Spencer, _together_. He wanted to be able to call Spencer _his._ He wanted to hold Spencer in his arms as he fell asleep with the reassurance that they were both _safe_.

But he couldn't have any of that. He didn't deserve any of that. There were so many things that were all his fault. Hotch remembered the first time he saw his father hit his brother instead of him. He had tried so hard to protect his little brother, but he hadn't been able to shield Sean from their father's rage. He remembered many a time he had provoked his father just so he wouldn't go after Sean, but that didn't make up for all the bruises, for all the pain, for all the fear. He remembered promising himself when he proposed to Haley that he would do a better job protecting her than he had with Sean. And God, had he tried. He knew the job with the BAU was dangerous, but it became a part of him; his purpose. And then Jack came along, and Hotch could barely breathe for fear of letting down Jack just as he had let Sean down. And in the end he did. Foyet killed Haley, and Jack was left without a mother; his father still working a job that required him to be away for days, possibly weeks at a time.

It was somewhere in the time between their marital troubles and Haley's death that Hotch realized Spencer was the real reason that he couldn't bear to leave the BAU. He had heard countless arguments from Haley about how it was just a job, and he could find a new one, a better one for his family, _his son._ And Hotch had always truly believed that it was the job that he couldn't step away from. He was helping people, saving lives. But if he really thought about it, there were other ways he could help people. But those ways didn't involve Spencer.

And the time following Haley's death only solidified his feelings. He felt like the whole world had stopped. He had killed a man with his bare hands; how was he any better than the monsters they hunted? And once again, he had failed to save the people he had sworn to protect. He wasn't sure he could do it anymore, not when the gun on his nightstand or the pills in his medicine cabinet were so readily available to him. But Spencer had pulled him back by being, well, Spencer. He was awkward, but somehow almost sure of himself at the same time, like he had already been through much worse and just that thought made Hotch's chest hurt. Spencer would ramble on and on about absolutely everything until he got a smile out of him. He was the first person to get Hotch to laugh again. His quiet presence and gentle strength was everything Hotch needed, and he clung to it.

And now, here he was. It had been over a year since Haley died, and he still had Spencer on his mind. He had subconsciously let the kid into his soft, vulnerable side, into the side that wasn't SSA Hotchner, simply Aaron. And part of him hated himself for it because Spencer didn't know any of this, so all it really caused him was more pain. Seeing Spencer hurt or upset was so much worse than anything that anyone could do to him, and his subconscious clearly knew it. He'd rather be dead than not be able to protect that man. But he couldn't constantly check up on him or stay close to his side or demand he stay out of dangerous situations because that wasn't fair to Spencer. Spencer wasn't his, Spencer didn't love him, and he wouldn't force him too. He couldn't.

Hotch sighed. He couldn't call Spencer, couldn't burden him with all of this. He knew he wouldn't get any more sleep that night, not with images of Spencer pleading with him to make the pain stop dancing just behind his eyes. No, he would just lay there. He would wait until morning to go to work and make the confirmation that yes, Spencer was alive and well. He slowly laid back down to wait.

"Sometimes waiting is the hardest thing of all."  
― Luanne Rice


End file.
